


One dream at a time

by Ren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7697476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Grantaire doesn't remember who had the idea of turning it into a bet in the first place but he's sure Courfeyrac had a hand in it. And then Combeferre had checked for them, and it turned out that sometimes overcaffeinated boyfriends do make mistakes. Enjolras is probably more ashamed of having made a mistake than of having to dress like a woman, but even so, Grantaire is still planning to enjoy this.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	One dream at a time

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write Serious Fic for a Serious Fest but then my brain was like "heyyy you know what you should do instead, go look at that WIP from 2013 with Enjolras in a red mini dress" and here we are now.

The girls are the first to arrive.

"We brought it," Cosette says, holding up a large paper bag and almost falling over Éponine in a fit of giggles.

"Most excellent," Grantaire says, while Courfeyrac shows them inside with an extravagant bow. None of them are quite capable of keeping a straight face.

"It's been a while, Courf," Musichetta says, stepping forward and giving him a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. "I hope it's okay if I crash your extremist gathering tonight."

Courfeyrac grins. "Always a pleasure to see you," he says. "Are you finally feeling the ardent revolutionary fervour of our cause?"

Musichetta laughs, shrugging out of her coat and tossing it at Grantaire. "I'm afraid not," she replies in the same teasing tone. "You know I'm one hundred percent in favour of what you guys do, but you're far too involved, I couldn't keep up with all your meetings and rallies."

Grantaire doesn't hold that against her. After all, his own attendance of Les Amis's meetings has more to do with their leader than with his interest in politics. "Then I assume you've heard about tonight's sideshow," he says.

"Of course I did." Musichetta grins and holds up an oversized handbag. "And I humbly offer my professional services."

Grantaire is positively gloating by now. "He'll love that," he says, motioning for them to follow. "He's in the living room. Enj, darling," he calls as he walks in, drawling out the pet name, "your entourage has arrived! And mademoiselle Musichetta is going to be your personal hair and make-up artist, purely out of the goodness of her own heart, isn't that nice?"

Enjolras has commandeered Courfeyrac's sofa and is typing frantically on his laptop, surrounded on all sides by stacks of notes. "Is this really necessary?" he says without looking up from the screen, heaving a long-suffering sigh.

The answer is a resounding chorus of "yes!" and the girls step forward to drag him to his feet. "You lost the bet, pretty boy, so you're going to pay up," Éponine says.

Grantaire takes the laptop and safely places it out of harm's way, not before having checked that Enjolras saved whatever he was working on. See, Grantaire is totally the best boyfriend ever and doesn't get nearly enough credit, even though he is partly responsible for Enjolras's current predicament.

Enjolras, being nothing but stubborn, keeps arguing while the three girls drag him towards the bedroom. "I can dress myself!" he says, digging in his heels and doing a good impression of a reluctant toddler.

"Nope," Éponine says, pushing him forward while the other two girls pull him by the arms and giggle. "You'd just throw on any old rag and call it done. And that, my friend, would be a _tragedy_."

"Ill-fitting dresses are an evil," Musichetta chimes in, giggling and pulling Enjolras's arm "especially on someone who looks like you do."

Cosette nods. "Exactly! We're here to rectify that evil."

"Think of us as your fairy godmothers," Éponine says, with a final shove across the bedroom's threshold that reminds Grantaire again of why he's glad she's his friend and not his enemy.

"Fine," Enjolras says inclining his head, a picture of royal acquiescence, as if hadn't just been dragged across the corridor against his will. He spreads his arms. "Ladies, do your worst."

When Grantaire and Courfeyrac try to follow them inside the bedroom, Cosette blocks their way. "Sorry, you'll get to see him when he's dressed," she says, making shooing motions with her hands.

"What?! Why?" Grantaire asks, glaring at the evil trio in mock outrage.

"This is my flat!" Courfeyrac says.

"May I remind you," Grantaire adds, "it's not as if I've never seen him naked."

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but Grantaire can tell he's trying to suppress a smile. Cosette and Musichetta dissolve into a fit of giggles.

However, Éponine is inflexible. "You'd just get in the way," she says, jabbing her finger towards Courfeyrac. "And you'd try to keep him _un_ dressed," she tells Grantaire.

"True enough," Grantaire agrees, eyes flickering towards Enjolras who's unbuttoning his shirt and looking resigned to his fate. "Try not to ogle too much?"

Cosette bats her eyelids. "But R, we've got to make sure the dress fits him," she chirps.

Grantaire gives up and retreats to the relative safety of the living room. Courfeyrac disappears in the kitchen so Grantaire busies himself by moving all of Enjolras's stuff off the sofa, sorting it into neat piles on the coffee table. He tries not to listen to the voices from the bedroom, because if he does he might be tempted to barge in and see for himself how things are going, and then he's sure Éponine would use him like a pincushion.

The flat is small and the voices carry, so he can't help but overhear a few snippets of conversation.

"Do you think we should take it in at the waist?"

"That doesn't look right, let me…"

"Which colour? This one?… No, that looks terrible with his complexion…"

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about this. It's been the only thing on his mind since last week's meeting, when he'd caught Enjolras blatantly getting his statistics wrong. And Enjolras had stubbornly defended his position after being called out on it, which made Grantaire think that maybe he was wrong and Enjolras was right, after all Enjolras was the one who stayed up until 2am to read books and browse websites and put together speeches, and Grantaire was the one who flipped through his boyfriend's papers while he waited for the pizza delivery guy to arrive.

But he'd kept arguing, because he liked riling up Enjolras, liked to see how worked up his boyfriend could get. Grantaire doesn't remember who had the idea of turning it into a bet in the first place but he's sure Courfeyrac had a hand in it. And then Combeferre had checked for them, and it turned out that sometimes overcaffeinated boyfriends do make mistakes. Enjolras is probably more ashamed of having made a mistake than of having to dress like a woman, but even so, Grantaire is still planning to enjoy this.

Combeferre shows up a good while before the meeting is planned to start. "I wanted Enjolras to check those before we start," he says, holding up some printing proofs for the posters they discussed during the last meeting.

From his spot on the couch, Grantaire shakes his head, barely suppressing his laughter.

In the other room, the girls are discussing shoes in a very loud and animated manner. "Sorry," Courfeyrac tells Combeferre, "he's still getting dressed by his fairy godmothers."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. "He's going through with it, then?" he asks.

"Have you ever known Enjolras to go back on his word?" Courf replies with a smirk, and Combeferre smiles. If Grantaire didn't know Combeferre very well, if he didn't know Combeferre for a man of integrity and honour, well, Grantaire might be tempted to say that Combeferre is rather amused by his best friend's current predicament.

The three of them talk a bit about the posters (could be worse, Grantaire concedes, at least they get the point across) and about their plans for a rally next month (hopeless, so hopeless, but of course Grantaire will be there) while the rest of their friends show up in twos and threes.

Cosette resurfaces to kiss Marius hello when he arrives, something Grantaire makes sure to highlight with a lot of pointing and whistling, because teasing Marius will only stop being fun when it stops making Marius blush, which will happen approximately never.

As expected Marius turns crimson, while Cosette just rolls her eyes. "He's not the one you should be whistling at," she tells Grantaire. "Just wait and see."

People keep showing up on the doorstep. It looks as if all the world knows about Enjolras's lost bet, because the tiny apartment is cramped. Even one of Éponine's criminal friends is here, lounging near the door and not-so-subtly checking out Jehan, who's perched on the arm of the sofa because there's not enough seats for everyone.

Grantaire goes to fetch a couple of folding chairs from the closet, a remnant of that time when Enjolras went camping with Combeferre and Courfeyrac just after high school, something none of the trio is willing to talk about. Then he grabs a beer from the fridge. It's the last one, since all the others have mysteriously disappeared or found their way to new owners. Bossuet is sharing a beer with Joly, who's carefully wiping the bottle with his sleeve before every sip.

If they'd known that so many people would show up today, Grantaire muses, they would have moved the meeting to the Musain, or some other public space. Courfeyrac has the largest living room but that's not saying much, considering that most of them live in cramped student apartments that don't even have a living room. Usually it's not a problem because very few people show up every week, those meetings are deadly dull. Except for tonight.

Grantaire is talking about painting with Feuilly when Éponine and Musichetta come out of the bedroom, arm in arm and looking exceedingly pleased with themselves. Musichetta clears her throat and tries to call for attention. Éponine, less subtle, says, "Shut up y'all," and throws a cushion in Montparnasse's face.

Musichetta, still giggling, disentangles herself from her friend and gestures towards the door. "Ladies and gentleman, your leader!"

The conversation dies down, and a dozen heads turn around to stare at the door. Enjolras stands there, one hand on the door frame as if for moral support, his mouth set in a resolute line, and Grantaire almost chokes on his beer at the sight.

When Grantaire had first pictured Enjolras in women's clothes, he'd imagined him looking rather like Bahorel does sometimes when he dresses in drag for a lark. Wearing something flashy and sequined, with a face full of glittery stage paint. Perhaps with a wig.

Grantaire was expecting Enjolras to look good _despite_ the dress. Instead (and Grantaire needs to take another swig of beer to fortify himself) Enjolras looks great _with_ the dress.

There's no wig. It doesn't look like a costume at all. Enjolras is wearing a red mini dress that hugs his body so well, Grantaire doesn't know whether to praise or curse Musichetta's sartorial skills. She must've used come clever padding because there's the hint of breasts over Enjolras's crossed arms. There's also a short black jacket – another smart choice, because it hides Enjolras's rather masculine arms and shoulders, and at the same time it sets off his ivory complexion.

Grantaire is dimly aware of a surge of chatter all around him, of people pulling out their phones to snap photos, of Enjolras saying something to Combeferre about posters of all things. He can't concentrate. He keeps staring at Enjolras, drinking in the details.

Enjolras takes a couple of steps into the room, wobbling only a little in the high-heeled boots he's wearing. Éponine must have done his make-up because it's flawless, like a photo on the front cover of a fashion magazine, possibly one with titles like _What To Do When Your Boyfriend Looks Like A God On Earth_ and _10 Ways To Hide Your Mounting Erection From Friends_.

Next to Grantaire, Courfeyrac whistles. Grantaire's mouth is suddenly so dry he can't swallow. He gulps down the rest of his beer, just to have something to do, but his eyes keep tracking Enjolras all the while. He has no idea what the girls did but the contours of his boyfriend's face look all different. Not wrong or ugly, just unexpected.

Enjolras is all planes and sharp angles, with cheekbones that could cut glass, but it's like the shape of his face was subtly changed, making him look much more feminine. His lips look plumper too and they're a shade of deep red that matches the dress.

It's his eyes that have Grantaire spellbound, though. They're rimmed with mascara and look larger and bluer than ever. Enjolras blinks and Grantaire tries to commit it to memory, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek, the way a stray curl falls in front of his face when he leans over to look at something Joly is showing him on his phone.

Courfeyrac always teases that Enjolras looks like a girl, but now? He could walk into some dimly-lit club and actually pass for a girl. Grantaire doubts anyone would bat an eyelid, and if people stared it would only be because Enjolras is so beautiful.

It's a testament to Enjolras's willpower that he tries to actually push through the meeting even though none of the others are paying attention to what he's saying. It's Friday evening and their group isn't planning anything until the rally next month so they're taking it easy. Enjolras might say that all their meetings are important but Grantaire knows that he picked today to settle the bet because they don't have much to discuss.

Grantaire tries to be a good boyfriend and pay attention but he's never been good with meetings under normal circumstances, let alone when Enjolras is wearing a dress that shows off miles and miles of perfect legs. He wonders if it's possible to come just from looking at someone. His dick seems to want to give it a try, it's a small mercy he's wearing baggy work pants. Grantaire's fingers clench around the empty bottle of beer and he loses himself in the sound of Enjolras's voice.

He has no idea how long the meeting lasts for. Certainly not as long as usual, though it feels like an eternity to Grantaire. It's torture to just sit on the sofa while Enjolras paces the room across from him, almost close enough to touch if Grantaire dared, which he doesn't.

Finally, though, a few people start talking about going out for drinks. Bahorel calls out a question to Jehan from across the room, and when Enjolras joins their discussion instead of complaining about the interruption, everyone considers the meeting officially over.

"You two are coming too, right?" Courfeyrac asks, clapping one hand on Grantaire's shoulder so suddenly it makes him jump. Luckily Courfeyrac is looking at Enjolras and doesn't notice. "You've got to show off your new outfit!"

"He doesn't have to do anything of the sort!" Combeferre chimes in before Enjolras can reply.

Enjolras hesitates just a moment before shrugging. "I don't care," he says.

"See? It's fine!" Courfeyrac exclaims. "Come on, let's go!"

" _Courf_ ," says Combeferre in a meaningful tone, and Courfeyrac huffs.

"All right, all right, you don't have to wear the dress," he says. "Though it looks great on you," he adds, giving Enjolras the thumbs up.

"Thanks," Enjolras replies with an upwards quirk of his lips.

The others, having decided on a destination, are already out of the door. It happens so quickly it's all a blur to Grantaire, or maybe it's because he's still frozen in a corner of the sofa. One moment the room is full of people talking over each other, the next moment the door slams behind Bossuet leaving Grantaire and Enjolras alone.

Grantaire swallows and pushes himself to his feet, carefully not looking at Enjolras.

"You can go ahead if you want," Enjolras says. "It's going to take me a while to get out of this."

"Uh," Grantaire says, not very intelligently, staring at his feet. "No, it's… it's fine," he adds, tripping over the words. "I don't mind. Waiting, that is. I don't mind waiting until you're dressed. Not that you're undressed now," he concludes, trailing off uncomfortably.

"R," Enjolras says, and Grantaire looks at him then, takes in the slight furrow between his eyebrows. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure," Grantaire says. Everything's peachy, apart from the fact all he can think about is bending Enjolras over the coffee table and having his way with him.

Enjolras steps closer, looking down at Grantaire thanks to the advantage of his high heels. With the lipstick, his mouth looks almost pouty. "Sure?" he repeats. He huffs out a sigh and drags one hand through his hair. Grantaire follows the movement as if he's hypnotized.

"R," Enjolras says again, this time more sternly. "You've been avoiding my eyes ever since I walked in wearing this thing!" he exclaims, and Grantaire is so startled that he does look Enjolras in the eye at that. Under the foundation, Enjolras is blushing. "Look, I'm not trying to fish for compliments here, but you're just about the only person who hasn't commented on how I look. Even Éponine's weird friend did, with embarrassing graphic detail that I did not need or want, while you…"

Grantaire doesn't let him finish the sentence. He steps forward, wrapping one arm around Enjolras's waist and pushing him backwards until he's got him crowded against the wall. He swallows, feeling his heart beating madly in his chest. Enjolras feels impossibly warm where he presses against his body.

"God, Enjolras," Grantaire says, wishing he didn't sound quite so raw and desperate. "You have no idea, do you?"

Enjolras's eyes have gone very wide. Grantaire pushes closer, grinding his erection against Enjolras's thigh, and kisses him. It takes Enjolras all of two seconds to respond and he does so enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Grantaire's neck to hold him close.

Grantaire moans against Enjolras's mouth and slides his hands down his back to cup his perfect ass. The fabric of the dress feels smooth and silky under his palms, a strange contrast to Enjolras's usual worn-down jeans. Enjolras bucks into his touch when Grantaire squeezes lightly – god, he loves Enjolras's ass – and he wonders if he's wearing underwear. It doesn't feel like it, and Musichetta is so careful with details, no way she'd allow Enjolras to wear boxers under that dress.

"So," Enjolras says once they break the kiss to breathe, "I'm guessing you don't mind seeing me like this?"

Grantaire would reply with something sarcastic and witty but he seems to have lost the capacity for coherent speech. He takes off Enjolras's jacket, uncovering his arms and shoulders, and nuzzles Enjolras's neck. Enjolras moans and tangles one hand in Grantaire's hair, murmuring something incoherent.

The dress is cut low, with a square neckline, and Enjolras's blush is spreading down his chest. Grantaire pulls one of the straps of the dress aside, revealing the top of a lacy black bra.

The last of Grantaire's self-control snaps. "Can I blow you?" he moans, pressing feverish kisses against Enjolras's skin. "Please say I can blow you."

He feels the muscles in Enjolras's throat move as he swallows. "Yes," Enjolras says, his voice an octave lower than usual. "I… yeah."

Grantaire drops to the floor so quickly that his knees hit the tiles with a crack. He doesn't care. He doesn't care that they're in Courfeyrac's living room, or that their friends could come back at any moment to ask what's taking so long. Enjolras is leaning against the wall, one hand on Grantaire's shoulder for support. He's breathing hard, too, and his lipstick is smudged at the corners.

Grantaire drags his gaze down his body, taking it all in. "You're gorgeous," he says reverently as his fingers skim the edge of Enjolras's skirt. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

He pushes up the fabric of the skirt, bunching it around Enjolras's waist, and then words desert him again. Enjolras is wearing underwear after all – skimpy black panties that are doing nothing to hide his half-hard cock. Grantaire makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and Enjolras looks away, blushing furiously.

"Those are Éponine's fault," Enjolras groans. "She insisted, you know how she is…"

Grantaire fucking loves Éponine. He leans forward to kiss Enjolras's dick through the silky fabric, inhaling Enjolras's scent. He feels Enjolras twitch under his lips. "Beautiful," he repeats, feeling the words rasp through his dry throat.

He hooks two fingers around the elastic of the panties, dragging them down as slowly as he can bear to. He'd tear all the clothes off Enjolras in a blink if he could, but he wants to make it last, wants to make this good for Enjolras. And, judging from the way the muscles in Enjolras's stomach tighten at his touch, Enjolras is liking this.

Grantaire drags his tongue over Enjolras's cock tentatively and is rewarded by Enjolras sliding a couple of inches down the wall. His whole body is shivering. Grantaire braces himself with one hand against the wall, while the other is still cupping Enjolras's ass. He doesn't give him any warning before wrapping his lips around Enjolras's length and swallowing as much of him as he can.

Enjolras gives a strangled gasp and his hips twitch as he tries to stop himself from fucking Grantaire's mouth. Grantaire wishes he would. He moves his lips around Enjolras's erection, feeling him go from half-hard to fully hard in no time at all. He loves this: making Enjolras lose control, watching him fall apart, knowing he's the one who pushed him over the edge. It doesn't happen often, because Enjolras has an iron grip on his emotions, but it's happening now.

"More… R, please… ah," Enjolras moans, and Grantaire is only too happy to comply. He teases Enjolras's slit, tasting salt on the tip of his tongue. Enjolras's moans are getting louder, he's biting his lips but can't quite stop the sounds he's making. His fingers tangle in Grantaire's hair and he guides Grantaire's head up and down his length, faster than Grantaire would've, bossy and demanding as usual.

Grantaire groans and wraps one hand around the base of Enjolras's dick. He works his jaw, trying to take in as much of Enjolras's length as he can without choking, moving his hand in sync with his tongue. He's rewarded by an even louder litany of moans from Enjolras, who's swaying under Grantaire's touch and looks almost out of his mind with pleasure.

Grantaire's dick is so hard it's painful but he can't touch himself now, not when he's got both of his hands on Enjolras and Enjolras is so close. Enjolras moans something, a curse mixed with Grantaire's name, and Grantaire knows what he's trying to say but he doesn't want to pull away. He holds Enjolras close as Enjolras comes in hot spurts down his tongue, swallowing convulsively until Enjolras stops shaking. He never liked swallowing, with other people, but Enjolras is different. With Enjolras, it feels like nothing will ever be enough.

Enjolras's dick makes a wet popping sound as it slides out from Grantaire's lips. Grantaire sits back on his heels and takes a moment to look at Enjolras. He'd like to draw him like this. In oils, he thinks, Enjolras is much too vibrant for pastels or watercolours, a riot of red silk and black lace and white skin.

As for the way Enjolras's chest rises and falls with every breath, Grantaire will never be able to capture that on canvas so he just stares and takes it all in, committing every detail to memory. Especially Enjolras's expression. His usual frown is gone, replaced by a blissed-out expression, and it's not every day that Grantaire can make him forget about his work for even a minute.

Grantaire presses his palm against the base of his dick, trying to relieve some of the ache. It's fine, he thinks, looking up at Enjolras. He presses his cheek against Enjolras's thigh and groans.

What he wants right now, or rather what his dick wants, is to fuck Enjolras. It's too bad that his dick isn't thinking things through. For one, they're at Courfeyrac's place, and while Grantaire imagines that Courf wouldn't mind too terribly, he draws the line at having sex in a friend's bed. Besides, even if they decided to have sex on the couch (and Grantaire has definitely been thinking about it) they haven't brought any lube, so there's that.

He would still _really_ like to fuck Enjolras now. Grantaire is so absorbed with the thought that he almost doesn't notice that Enjolras's eyes have lost their glazed expression. He lets out a startled yelp, which is quickly muffled, as Enjolras hauls him to his feet and plants a hard kiss on his lips.

"What do you want?" Enjolras murmurs against his skin. His mouth has almost been wiped of lipstick, the remaining redness is all from kissing.

Grantaire moans and parts Enjolras's lips with his tongue. His dick is a solid lump of pain in the front of his pants.

"R," Enjolras breathes, in between kisses, "tell me, what you want…"

What he _wants_ is to push open Enjolras's legs and bury his dick inside. He can't though, because it would hurt Enjolras, because Enjolras would let him do it for no other reason that he's got no restraints, and it would be a terrible idea. Grantaire breaks the kiss, takes a long breath. "Just… I just need to get off… now," he says.

His voice almost cracks with desperation on the last word. He slips one hand inside the waistband of his pants, palming himself roughly and hissing at the contact. His eyes are glued to Enjolras as he blindly unbuttons his pants and pushes them down along with his briefs. Enjolras's eyes are impossibly blue and bright under the make-up.

"Beautiful," Grantaire murmurs, wrapping one hand around his own length. He trails a line of kisses over Enjolras's jawbone, searches for his pulse point. One of the straps of Enjolras's dress has slipped from his shoulder, exposing white skin and the lacy bra beneath. Grantaire takes the strap of the bra between two fingers and stares at it in wonder. "You're so goddamn beautiful, you know that, right?"

Enjolras huffs with laughter. "Don't I look… weird, dressed in this?"

For all answer, Grantaire slips his hand down the front of the dress, and there's a sharp intake of breath as his fingers find one of Enjolras's nipples. Grantaire groans and his hips push harder against Enjolras, seeking more friction. He's so very close.

"Grantaire," Enjolras says, so low Grantaire almost doesn't hear. "R. Put your cock between my legs."

It takes a moment for Grantaire to understand what Enjolras is saying. Enjolras parts his legs slightly and guides Grantaire with his hand, until Grantaire is thrusting into the tight heat between Enjolras's thighs, his dick sliding under Enjolras's balls.

It's good. It's so good, Grantaire lets out a low moan and buries his face against Enjolras's collarbone. It's rough, without lube, but the angle is just perfect, and when Enjolras squeezes his legs together slightly Grantaire feels as if he can't breathe.

"Enjolras," he moans against his boyfriend's heated skin. Like a prayer, like an invocation to the gods. He runs his hands over Enjolras's hips, feeling the silk-smooth softness of the fabric and the warm skin beneath.

Grantaire knows he should go slower, Enjolras has just come and he must still feel sensitive – his breath hitches ever so slightly whenever Grantaire's dick brushes against the underside of his own. But Enjolras's fingers are on Grantaire's buttocks, pressing hard enough to leave bruises, holding him close.

When Grantaire raises his head, Enjolras is staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Enjolras," Grantaire breathes out, thrusting against him. "You're too much," Grantaire whispers in Enjolras's ear, low and desperate.

"Is that meant as a compliment?" Enjolras asks, amusement in his voice. His breath is hot against Grantaire's cheek.

"I mean it," Grantaire says, and bites off a curse when Enjolras's thighs squeeze around his cock again, making him see stars. He's so close he can barely think. "I feel like I'm in… one of those Greek myths. You know. Those about… about mortal men falling in love with gods." Grantaire groans. "Enjolras…"

He kisses him, all messy and uncoordinated. Enjolras murmurs "Yes" against his lips and it feels like permission. Grantaire comes hard, coating Enjolras's thighs and making a mess of his pants. He collapses against Enjolras, pinning him against the wall.

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and takes several shaky breaths. They should clean up but he doesn't want to just know. He'd rather stay where he is, with Enjolras in his arms, warm and pliant. He has no idea what he's done to deserve this man and most times he feels it's too good to last. After all, mortals falling in love with gods always came to a bad end.

Enjolras moves one hand up Grantaire's back and under his t-shirt. "Flattering as it is, I'm not a god," he says, as if he's reading Grantaire's thoughts. "Greek or otherwise."

Grantaire holds him tighter.


End file.
